All the Pretty Horses
by krazykatneedslovin
Summary: All she wants is her freedom, her horses and one true love. One man loved her too much, another too little. Will her handsome saviour be the one to give her what she needs so much
1. An Unexpected Letter

On the day that her life had changed forever, Eve woke up with one hell of a headache. Flashing fairy lights in front of her eyes, indicating the onset of a particularly bad migraine. After washing down two aspirin with three day old milk, finding that the bread had become so moldy that even scraping it with a knife would have had no significant effect, she guaranteed herself an especially bad hair day when she used conditioner instead of shampoo to clean her hair. To top it all off, when searching for her uniform, she found that the landlady's cat had used it in place of it's litter tray.

"Bloody pile of shit! That's what my life is." Fuming, she lifted the soiled work clothes and carefully carried them into her kitchen. Silently cursing, she grabbed a bin bag and dropped the offending articles inside.

She opened her second hand refrigerator, ever hopeful that something edible had mysteriously found it's way onto her ever-empty shelves. Instead she found an atrocious amount of beer, some suspiciously green cheese and a couple of eggs that might have been fossilized with age. Either that or they were the remainder of the Easter eggs, some of which she had painted almost four months ago.

As breakfast obviously was not an option, Eve hurried back to the bedroom. Her other uniform was still rolled into a ball in the wash basket, too creased to be worn again. Instead she grabbed a pair of dark blue jeans and a pale blue shirt and put them on.

Unwrapping the towel turban from around her wet hair, she studied herself in the mirror on her vanity desk. Her ink black hair hung in rats' tails around her face, stopping just above her shoulders. Pulling a brush through it she examined the scars around her eyes, down her cheeks and on her chin. Angry red lines crisscrossing in places, not small blemishes easily hidden with the right make up although Eve had tried.

As if trying to make up for the imperfection of her face, Eve had thrown herself into making sure every other aspect of her appearance was perfect. She had her hair cut and styled every few weeks, worked out every evening with the religious dedication of an athlete training for the Olympics and was well dressed for every occasion, whether it be for the weekly journey to the Laundromat at the corner of her street or a swanky party in the hottest club in London. 

Maintaining this image came at a price, however, meaning Eve had to wake at the ungodly hour of four in the morning to get to work. Looking in the mirror a little longer, Eve sighed. At twenty seven she should be well on her way to making a life for herself, instead she was stuck in a hovel barely big enough to be called a studio flat and had a job she hated so much that an hour of mind bending torture would be preferable.

"No rest for the wicked, I suppose," she murmured, stretching on tip toe to get her coat down from it's peg at the front door.

Eve had not had the best of beginnings in life. At the tender age of four years old she had lost both parents in a horrific car accident. Badly traumatized she had slipped into an unusual form of catatonia, unable to do anything for herself; she remained silent until her after seventh birthday. Her room was frequented by psychologists and doctors fascinated with her strange condition. Nothing they tried could bring her out of this state of unconsciousness. There was nothing physically wrong with her, no brain damage to explain why she was this way.

And then one day she had returned. Her eyes had focused for the first time in years on a young nurse going through the daily routine. As a strangled gargle forced it's way through her dry, cracked lips, the nurse had almost fainted with shock. Alarm bells sounded calling the duty doctor to her private room, who, in such a state of frenzied excitement, had spilled an entire cup of black coffee down his pristine white jacket.

It had taken four years to adjust Eve back to normal life. Although almost eight years old when she had awoken she still had the mind of a four-year-old child. Extremely disturbed by flashbacks of the accident, she had to have extensive counseling, on top of all the schooling she had missed. When the authorities decided she was still too disturbed to go back to leading a normal life she was sent to a specially selected foster family in which her foster mother had been specially trained to deal with children who had extreme difficulties.

Eventually, Eve had ended up with her aunt, who had engaged the help of several solicitors and had fought endlessly in court for custody.

Twenty years older than her mother, she had been an old lady when Eve had come into her care. Having already experienced the untimely death of her parents and consequently becoming her younger sisters legal guardian at the age of thirty, Aunt May was determined to bring hope into young Eve's life. Optimistic by nature, with formidable coping skills and a deep love of life, May helped Eve to live a relatively normal life.

Those had been happy days, filled with laughter, in spite of the difficulties. When Eve awoke screaming from her nightmares, Aunty May had comforted her. When Eve came home crying, bullied by mindless children because of her scars, Aunty May had made her smile.

It was her time with her Aunt that had brought her to metalworking. May had loved jewellery of all kinds and most of all she had loved her rings. She wore rings of all shapes and sizes, gold, silver, diamond, topaz, sapphire, emerald, plain bands or ornately decorated; there was never an unadorned finger on Aunty May's hands. Eve had especially liked to watch the precious stones flash and sparkle as Aunty May dusted and cleaned.

Even when arthritis crippled her hands, Aunty May wore her most favorite rings on a chain around her neck.

Her death had been a difficult time. Eve had cried for weeks, unable to believe that, at just thirteen years old, she had nobody left to turn to. All her family was gone, taken from her so cruelly. Her parents, her Aunty May, still a sprightly old woman, to cancer. Who would look after her and keep her safe? To make matters worse, her Aunt in her effort to make sure Eve had wanted for nothing, had left a great deal of debt behind, meaning many of the rings which she had left to her niece had to be auctioned off. Eve was left with only a few mementos to remember her Aunt by.

It was these rings that had inspired Eve to go into metalwork. After five years of moving from foster home to foster home, she escaped to college with a scholarship, determined to make a life for herself. 

Coming home from the early shift at the components factory at which she had managed to find a temporary position at during the summer, Eve sighed wearily. She climbed the stairs; her footsteps echoing round the bare walls. Today had been near impossible, the air conditioning had packed in again leaving her workspace not much unlike an oven. She was hot and sweaty and unbelievably tired.

Opening the door with her key, she shoved the door open with her shoulder.

"Bloody door! Bloody work! Bloody life," she stomped through to her tiny living space, throwing her bag down on the threadbare sofa.

Reaching for a beer from her clapped out refrigerator and slumping down, with the old sofa protesting loudly, she examined her calloused hands.

She should be making beautiful jewellery with these old hands, not putting together DVD players and mobile phones, she thought angrily. When was she going to get the break she deserved? After four and a half years in college she had become a highly skilled metal smith. Another three years in apprenticeship with a master of metal smiths, in which she had learned to see the beauty, not only in the rings and jewellery she loved to make, but in arms and armour as well.

She couldn't understand why she hadn't been snatched up and given work. It was as if there was a curse hanging over her foiling her every attempt to find gainful employment. Shortly after finishing her apprenticeship, ready to go into work for Chris Topien who had taught her everything she knew, she had fallen down the stairs. Reaching out to save herself, she had sustained bad fractures to both wrists. Put out of action for six months, she had been almost driven mad with worry about losing the strength in her hands. Like a brain surgeon, she would be useless without full use of all her fingers. She had recovered fully, but not before the position went to a more available apprentice.

Then she had been offered a job with a company making custom made swords and helmets for on line customers. Although it was jewellery she wanted to make, she enjoyed time and effort that went into making a functional sword. It had sounded like an interesting job, but unfortunately it had been in America. Having only just established herself in London, she felt loath to up and leave. Also, she had an extreme fear of flying, or, to tell the truth, any form of public transport. She hated not being in control and preferred to get about by bike and, at most, in her little runabout car for longer journeys.

So here she was, stuck working in the job from hell, with no career prospects on the horizon. Sighing, Eve rose and went into her tiny bathroom. Wrinkling her nose at the smell of mildew that seemed to permeate the walls, no matter how much she cleaned it, she twisted the hot tap on. After a great deal of spluttering water came rushing out. Testing its warmth, she grimaced. Perhaps she should boil the kettle a couple of times.

As she was boiling the kettle, the doorbell rang.

"Coming," she yelled.

Peeking through the spy hole, she saw Mrs Bodkins, her annoying elderly landlady.

As wide as she was tall, Mrs Bodkin had to be the world's most interfering person Eve had ever met. In her sixty's she looked like a caring old granny. Nothing was further from the truth. Evelyn, as her bridge club buddies called her, like to know everything that was going on. She was an incorrigible snoop, and a terrible gossip, but what Eve hated most was that she allowed her flea-bitten old tomcat have the run of the building, hence the little present left on her uniform this morning.

Mrs Bodkin cleaned all the flats under her tenancy, a condition laid down in the lease agreement Eve had signed. This gave the old woman opportunity to rifle through her clients private lives with utmost ease. This pissed Eve off, especially as the fee for cleaning was included in her rent.

"What is it Mrs Bodkin," Eve asked as she opened the door. Although the box addressed to Eve was pretty self-explanatory.

"Hello! As you can see I have something that belongs to you. It was delivered a couple of days ago." Mrs Bodkin pursed her lips with a look of distaste.

"I really wish that you would give out your proper address. I can't keep running up all these stairs delivering things willy-nilly for you young lady! I do have arthritis you know. A lady of my condition should not have to run errands for someone as perfectly capable as yourself."

"Thank you Mrs Bodkin, it won't happen again. So sorry about your arthritis." Eve groaned inside, waiting for the lecture she knew was about to come.

"Well, don't let it happen again. I suppose you'll be wanting this," Mrs Bodkin handed her the package and turned to go. "You know, in my day…"

Hastily, Eve retreated backwards, closing the door just as Mrs Bodkin turned to finish her lecture. Eve had heard it all before, and certainly did not want to hear it again.

"I wonder what this could be," Eve spoke aloud to herself.

The parcel was light, and did not rattle when Eve shook it. She checked the postmark. New Zealand! Who did she know in New Zealand? Ripping off the tape she opened the box.

A manila envelope sat in the box. There was no writing on the outside to explain what it was, so she ripped it open. Two plane tickets fell out along with a hand written note.

"Strange!" Eve said examining the airline tickets. They were booked from Heathrow to Auckland airport. One there, one back. She picked up the note hoping for some explanation.

Dear Eve, 

Your dreams can come true. Trust me when I say this is something you have always dreamed of. Hope you like your present.

PJ

Attached to the bottom of the letter was a simple gold band. Looking closer she saw it was engraved with what looked like some kind of writing. She turned it over in her hands, admiring the workmanship of the simple gold ring.

Checking the dates on the tickets, she realized they were for today.

"Oh shit! Bloody Mrs Bodkins."

Eve could not help but wonder what this PJ had meant about her dreams coming true. Was this some sort of job offer? To make jewellery? There was no contact address or telephone number, it seemed the only way she would find out was to go to New Zealand. Could she do that?

Looking again at the tickets in her hands, she wondered. What did she have here to keep her?

"Nothing, I have nothing here." She was surprised at the anger in her voice. Perhaps it was the hellish day that had made up her mind, or the question of how she was going to pay next months rent, but suddenly and recklessly, Eve decided to go.

Leaving the envelope and its contents on the table she walked into her bedroom. Doubts overwhelmed her as she threw clothes into her backpack. She couldn't fly! What if something happened? What if the plane crashed?

Steeling herself for the inevitable flashback, she was hugely surprised when it didn't come. Maybe she was getting better. After all these years she should be able to deal with relinquishing control to a skilled pilot. Someone who flew every day without problems. For once she had decided to face her fear instead of avoiding it.

Checking the tickets again, Eve realized that she could never make it across London by car in time for the flight. 

"Two firsts in one day. London Tube here I come."


	2. Facing Her Fears

Eve sighed as the engines fired up.  Her knuckles were white with tension as she gripped her shaking knees.  Looking down at the blue jeans she had worn home from work earlier that afternoon, she gritted her teeth against the rising panic.

An elderly gentleman sat next to her, calmly perusing the safety pamphlet provided by the airline.  At the front of the cabin a crewmember smiled whilst going through the motions of the passengers safety briefing.  Eve watched taking nothing in, instead wondering what she was doing on a plane heading for New Zealand. 

Life had been hard since leaving college, but Eve was no stranger to adversity.  She had learned to cope with the daily struggles a long time ago.  Having lost most of her family at a young age she had become adept at handling whatever fate threw at her.  She had paid her own way through college and university, sometimes working three jobs along with a cartload of revision and coursework.  Eve had grown up fast and missed out on a lot of things other people took for granted. 

Recently, though, she had been wondering what the point was.  She had come away from university and been snapped up by the reputable metal smith Chris Topien, who had been blown away by the beauty of her work.  His young protégée had not let him down.  Dedicated to the point of obsession, Eve had produced some of her greatest work to date whilst under his supervision. 

It had been a great blow when Eve had broken both her wrists, not least because one of the biggest job opportunities had just fallen into her lap.  Watching the job of a lifetime pass her by had been a harsh blow and had severely knocked her confidence.  She had cut off all contact with Chris, refusing to accept any help, humiliated that she had let everybody down.

Since then, everything had gone downhill.  Unable to work and worried to the point of breakdown Eve had survived on the dole, living in a dingy council flat barely better than a squat.  She had slipped into a black depression and become a recluse, only leaving the flat to collect her money and stock up on the bare essentials. 

Until one day she had been brought back to reality with a sharp thump.   Realizing her life was going nowhere unless she did something about it, she had answered an advertisement for a London based components factory. 

Moving to London had been both a lifesaver and a letdown for Eve.  As she started rebuilding her life Eve had wrapped herself in the relative safety of daily routine to the point where her life had become devoid of meaning.  All she did was sleep, eat and work.  The intriguing note this afternoon had pushed her niggling frustration with her mundane reality to the surface and she had become conscious of how miserable she really was. 

Now, as the plane taxied up the runway, Eve wondered if she had perhaps been too rash.  She had not even notified her landlady of her departure, thinking it would be easier to phone her later than tell her face-to-face.  A stern lecture from the old bitch was the last thing she needed. 

 "You look a little tense. Is this your first time flying" 

Eve jerked in her seat, realizing the voice had been directed towards her.  Turning in her seat she saw the kindly old man looking at her with deep sympathy. 

 "It's just that you look … well, a bit scared really."  He grinned, showing remarkably white teeth that could only be false. 

Eve became aware of her mouth hanging open.  Blushing, she forced a stiff smile onto her face.  "To put it bluntly, I'm shit scared.  I feel like I'm going to be sick actually." 

 "Poor dear," he crinkled his eyes in amusement, "They have these little bags for that, quite handy actually." 

Pulling a discreet white bag from the back of the seat in front he handed it to Eve, patting her hand. 

  "And yes, it's my first time and hopefully my last."    

 She gasped as the plane picked up speed. Her stomach lurched, and she found herself hastily reaching for the white paper bag, gripping it tightly in her hand, just to be on the safe side.    

  "Well however are you going to get home if this is your last flight?  It's not so bad really, once you're up.  It's just the getting there that isn't pleasant. That, and coming back down I suppose."    

 With tears streaming down her face Eve swallowed rapidly, struggling internally not to throw up.  The old man chattered away distracting Eve for most of the planes bumpy ascent.  From time to time he would place an arm on Eve shoulder, asking her if she felt any better.  She found his grandfatherly concern endearing and tried to answer his gentle questions.  

  "You know, I'm actually a nervous flyer myself, but I find a couple of Prozac do wonders.  I could loan you one or two if you like."    

 He rustled around in the pockets of the battered carryall at his feet.     

  "Not that I spend my time pushing drugs on nervous young women." He winked humorously, handing Eve a bottle of Evian and a pill clearly marked Prozac.  "You'll find it much easier to relax after one of those.  My doctor recommended it to me.  Apparently they're beta-blockers, something like a tranquillizer.  All gobbledygook to me, really."   

 Eve accepted his offer gratefully, hoping to numb her growing terror.  Aware that she could have a debilitating flashback if she didn't calm herself, Eve took deep breaths using a progressive muscle relaxation technique she had been taught by her doctor.    

 The old man chattered away until Eve began to feel a bit drowsy.  Her eyes drooped and lulled by the gentle words of her flying companion she drifted off.    

 The rest of the flight seemed to pass as if it was a dream.  Awakening some hours after takeoff, Eve found the old man, whose name she still didn't know, had covered her with a blanket.  Having taken responsibility for Eve, he had also ordered her meal for her, telling her she needed to be fattened up with his comforting chuckle.  They ate and talked for hours.  Eve found that Jimmy, which was the old codgers name, was traveling to New Zealand to meet up with his wife, who had been visiting her long lost adopted daughter.  He made her laugh with a couple of anecdotes only old men seem to know and asked her searching questions about her own reason for visiting the far off island.    

  "I'm hoping to get a job out there." She answered avoiding an in depth answer that might make him question her sanity.

  "It's such a beautiful country, Eve.  My wife tells me she wants to stay forever.  With my fear of flying to put me off, I might never go back to England."  He gazed into space as if saying goodbye to what was behind them.    

 Eve dozed peacefully on and off, missing the second meal and the flight seemed to be over much sooner than she expected.  About fifteen minutes before they went in to land Jimmy shook her awake, giving her another Prozac. 

 As the decent began, he turned to face her.    

  "I must say Eve, this has been one of the most pleasant flights I have ever had.  You have been an excellent flying companion."    

  "Thank you Jimmy. I wouldn't have gotten through this if it hadn't been for you."  She gripped the armrest as the plane banked.    

 He withdrew a business card from his pocket and placed it in her hand.    

  "Now, if you are ever in need of a Prozac or two, this is my card.  You're welcome to pop over and have a chat."  He turned his shoulders so that he was facing Eve, his expression grave.  "You look after yourself girl."    

 They were on the ground as he turned away.  Eve felt relief flood her body.  Relieved that she could stretch her legs and breathe fresh air again she quite forgot that the journey was not yet over.  Grabbing her hand luggage she had to stop herself pushing in eagerness to get off the plane on onto unexplored soil.  

 Her happiness was short lived as she stepped into the busy arrivals lounge.  Her confidence drooped and she found herself totally overwhelmed by the crowds lingering around the luggage carousel. Surrounded by strange accents and people, she concentrated only on finding her bag and getting away from it all as quickly as possible.    

 Doubts began to enter her mind.  She wondered whether anyone would be there to meet her and what he or she would be like.  What if she was stranded at the airport? Or if she missed her contact?  Where the hell was her bag?    

 Seeing the familiar battered backpack she lunged past a woman who seemed more interested in chatting to her neighbor than finding her own things.  Ignoring the indignant yelps she grabbed the strap and swung round, heading for the exit.

  "Who the hell was that?" The battered bystander screeched, turning back to her conversation. "Think she was in a hurry?"     

 As she came through the doors leading her to the main area of the airport, Eve noticed a sign for the Ladies.  Rushing in she jumped the queue and locked herself in a cubicle.    

  "Stop panicking, stop panicking." She murmured, closing the lid of the toilet and sitting.  Prone to anxiety attacks when overcrowded or facing the unknown, Eve fought the rising fear and struggled to remain in control.    

 A timid knock came at the door accompanied by a raised whisper enquiring whether she was okay.  She ignored and instead focused on calming her racing heart.  Wiping her sweating palms with the available loo roll, she gradually came down off the fearful adrenaline high.  She stopped shaking and began thinking more rationally.

 Aware that the Ladies bathroom was buzzing with nervous chatter about her sudden appearance and consequent actions, Eve opened the cubicle door sheepishly.    

 Half a dozen women turned to face her.  Some showing concern, others anger.    

  "You jumped the queue." The heavily made up lady pointed a red talon accusingly.

  "I'm… oh God… I'm so, so sorry, I had to be sick."    

  "The are queues for a reason you know.  You can't just…"    

 Eve left her attacker mouthing furiously as she walked out the room.  Almost marching, she crossed the hall following signs for the Help Bureau.    


	3. Escape From Darkness

 Awaking she found her wrists were bound tightly.  Cautiously she opened an eye.  Nothingness!  It was as dark as night.  Robbed of vision her other senses sharpened.  The ground beneath her felt jagged and uneven and she became aware of a hard lump resting uncomfortably in the small of her back.   The dull plink of water droplets hitting the surface of a pool could be heard somewhere off to her right-hand side.  The air smelt damp and musty and she could taste rottenness on her lips.

Shifting her weight, she rolled onto her side.  Pins and needles exploded in both her hands, which had been tied at the back.  As the circulation returned, spasms of pain almost made her cry out.  She sensed, however, that it would be wise not to bring attention to herself until she had worked out where she was and how much danger she was in.

_'How did I get here?_'

Her mind remained frustratingly clouded; her temple ached as though she had been struck.  Trying to free her hands again she gently rotated her wrists within her roped restraints.  The joints in her shoulders popped, protesting at the brutal angle at which they were held.  There was only a little give, little more than the natural elasticity of the fibers that were used in the rope.  Not enough to free herself. 

Resting again she fought the urge to sleep.  Her head was throbbing now and she felt slightly ill.  Confusion at her situation threatened to overwhelm her.  Claustrophobia gnawed at the pit of her stomach, ever present and slowly feeding her rising fear.  Resisting panic, she tested her legs to find that her ankles were also shackled, though not so securely.  Wriggling a little, she fought to loosen the rope at her feet.  It was a slow process and it took a good five minutes before she felt it drop off. 

Beads of sweat collected at the corners of her eyes.  Her muscles trembled in exhaustion.  Perspiring heavily, she attempted to sit, but immediately lay back down as waves of nausea engulfed her.  A trickle of warmth rolled down her forehead into her eye. 

_'I must be injured.  But why? And how?  If only I could see._'

She lay for a while, readying herself for another attempt at rising.  Mentally checking her body she became aware of various aches and pains.  Her knees felt tender and raw, as though she had fallen upon them and her wrist were chafed by her struggles to free herself.  Her hip was numb and cold where it rested on the hard ground. 

At her next attempt she sat with less trouble.  Hissing with pain, she moved onto her knees and slowly rose to her feet, fighting the dizziness that threatened to fell her a second time.  This took a great effort and she felt out of breath, weakened by her injuries. 

'_I think I must be in a cave of some sorts.  But how?_'

 A faint thought tickled her consciousness, just beyond her mind's grasp. 

_'Not how… who?  Someone has brought me here. Tied me and left me.  But what if they come back?'_

The thought terrified her.  She knew she needed to get out, but blinded and handicapped by her bonds, she had no idea of the direction in which freedom might lie.  Straining her eyes against the darkness, she fought the urge to call out for help.  Whomever, or whatever had left her here might not be so far away.  It would be perilous to alert them to her potential escape. 

 Tentatively she took a few steps forwards, stopping abruptly when she sensed a great emptiness yawning before her. 

 '_I cannot escape if I cannot see. I need my hands freed, but how?'_

Changing direction she stepped backwards.  After a dozen steps she came into contact with a wall.  She recoiled at first from the damp, almost slimy texture.  Overcoming her initial fright she twisted her hands so that the palms touched the surface and began walking. 

 '_If I cannot see with my eyes, I can see with my hands.'_ She thought triumphantly.

Feeling her way along the rocky floor with her feet and guided by the wall she walked for what seemed to be hours.  Listening for any sound of her unknown enemy's approach she was met with a foreboding silence.  When it seemed she could walk no more, she became aware that where previously there had been nothing but darkness, she could make out faint outlines.  A ghostly light cast a greenish hue, which reflected eerily off the crystalline calcite that formed the sandstone walls.   Glancing up at the high ceiling she saw the dim light filtered down through a crack nestled amongst a forest of ancient stalactites.

On further examination she concluded that while the underground cavern had been formed by the erosion of time and water, the passageway in which she had awoken was manmade.  Only a few feet across, it ran in a straight line, too uniform to have occurred naturally.   The floor was strewn with small rocks and the occasional larger boulder.  Rivulets of water ran down the ragged walls, gradually wearing shallow depressions into the surface and resting in shallow pools on rocky ground.   Mildew grew wherever the rough stone was wet.

'_I must be careful not to slip.'_

Encouraged by her newfound sight, she set out at a faster pace, hoping she was not so far underground that she would become lost.  It seemed straightforward enough, the passage she was in seemed to travel in one direction and there had been no forks in the path so far.  

Memories came back to her as she walked. 

 '_I was traveling.  Something happened.  It was night, dark like this cave.  Screams.  Oh the screams!  I was not alone, there were others.  The horses had stampeded, running away.  From what?  Something bad.  Deargán panicked.  Reared up.  I fell.  Hit my head on something.'_

 She shook her head, trying to clear it.  Everything had happened so quickly, one minute she had been on her horses back, the next flying through the air.  And then… nothing. 

A noise up ahead jolted her from her thoughts.  Adrenaline flushed through her body, her stomach churned sickeningly and her heart jumped in her chest.  Looking around desperately for somewhere to hide she saw a boulder against the wall and, without thinking, threw herself on the ground behind it.  She jarred her shoulder as she landed, biting her tongue as her chin scraped the floor.   Ignoring the metallic taste that flooded her mouth she pressed herself as close to the wall as she could get. 

The noise echoed around the walls as many marching feet came closer.  It became unbearably loud and she bit her tongue in the effort of preventing screams of terror issuing forth.  The din of many voices chanting in an alien tongue filled the air.  The sound was dark and guttural and utterly terrifying.  Unable to shield her ears with her hands, the deep roar assaulted her to the core of her being.

When she thought she could take it no longer, that she would have to scream or lose her sanity, the clamor receded.  As it faded she risked a glace and at once wished she had not.  A host of orcs traveled into the darkness from where she had just come.  Some carrying the limp bodies of unfortunate captives over their shoulder like sacks. 

 '_That was me not so long ago.  Oh! How can I leave knowing there are more like me?  Hidden in the darkness.  A live food store for these dark beasts.  How many have suffered such a terrible fate?'_

When stillness had returned she rose from her hiding place.  Throwing caution aside she began to run, desperate to escape from a shadowy doom.  It was not long before she saw the opening, a great circle of light that dazzled her eyes.  She was almost out! 

  ***   

Coming into the pale morning light, the girl dropped to her knees forgetting her injuries.  Turning her face to the sky she wept tears of relief.  Though her ordeal was not yet over, escaping the cave was the first step to regaining her freedom. 

 '_Thank Illuvatar! I will see the sun rise once more.'_

She was in a small clearing in the foothills of a snowcapped mountain.  The snowy cap of the huge mountain reached aloft behind her.  Below her thick pine forest covered the stony terrain.  The air smelled fresh and sweet in contrast to the dank reek of the cave.  She greedily sucked in a deep lungful, almost choking in her eagerness to rid herself of the evil stench that clung to her body. 

 Her clothing hung in tatters, barely covering her battered body.  The chilly mountain air bit at her exposed skin.  Deciding it was best to keep moving, she set off keeping the rising sun at her back.  Struggling slightly to keep her balance she gradually made her way down the craggy pathway. 

'_Where am I?  I can't quite place it.  A wooded mountain.  I think it may be the Emyn Muil, but that would mean I have been taken at least fifty miles from where we set up camp.  How long have I been unconscious?'_

Her mind replayed the horrors of the orc-infested cave as she tried to remember what had happened.  She knew that orcs could not stand the sunlight and that she was safe until nightfall.  She had to use the time given to her to steadily put distance between herself and the evil beasts.  It was mid morning, with noon fast approaching.

She gasped raggedly, out of breath at the exertion.  Several times she had to force herself to keep moving as a deep exhaustion set in.  The desire to lie down and sleep was almost overpowering.  Her eyes felt gritty and leaked copiously, blurring her vision and making it difficult to see.  

 '_How far have I come?  It feels like ten thousand miles.'_

She stumbled on an exposed tree root and, unable to use her arms to regain her balance, fell onto her right shoulder.  Agony exploded through her body, causing her to scream.  The joint felt loose and unnatural, and the pain was unbearable.  Curling into a ball she sobbed noisily.  

  ***  

Some hours later she woke from a dreamless sleep.  The sun had reached and passed its highest point. She jumped up, startled. 

 '_Oh! I must have fallen asleep. Damn.  There's no point in escaping if I'm going to get caught again_.' 

 She forced her protesting legs back into the brisk walk she had kept up most of the morning.  The land was almost flat now, the vast mountain peaks of the Emyn Muil diminishing in the distance.  She had traveled fifteen miles before noon, and though she had slept a while, still had several hours before sunset.  Not that it didn't get dark in the thickly wooded forest before that.  She had to reach the edge as soon as possible to ensure the cave dwelling goblins could not creep up on her using the trees and bushes to hide their approach. 

 Her stomach grumbled as the days quick march took its toll on her flagging energy.  As she walked she looked out for anything edible.  It would not do to be fainting from hunger.  If she did that she might end up being a meal for something else. 

 A rustling in the bushes ahead brought her to a sudden halt. 

 "Who goes there?  Show yourself!"  Her cry more confident than she felt. 

 The rustling stopped.  As she readied herself to run, she heard the familiar throaty nicker that identified her young stallion. 

  "_Deargán,"_ she called softly, waiting for the wily beast to show himself. 

She had named him for the deep chestnut color of his coat.  He was her 'little red one' and when he ran his mane and tail flew out behind him and looked akin to flames in a fire.  He stepped out from the bush, as handsome with twigs and burrs in his tail and mud up his legs as when groomed and prepared for his mares. 

He was her stud stallion, descended indirectly from the great bloodline of the Mearas.  He produced fine colts and fillies and had made her a wealthy woman.  She was a well-respected breeder in her hometown and was slowly becoming recognized as a great trainer also. 

She buried her face in his well-muscled shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of straw and sweat.  She loved this horse like he was her own child, and had thought him dead.  She felt blessed that he had the intelligence to follow her, for he would be a great help in her escape from the cave.  She could travel twice as fast on his back and perhaps reach her camp before dawn tomorrow. 

Her first problem was releasing herself from her bonds, which had been tied behind her back.  She had always ridden bareback, as Deargán would accept no saddle although he allowed her to use a rope halter to guide him.  She sat on a grassy patch contemplating her problem. 

 '_I can still ride with my arms behind me, but not as fast as I would like.  Perhaps I could…'_

 She wriggled a bit, bringing her knees up to her chest and slowly pulled her arms around her legs.  Her shoulder cramped and she screeched in pain, but it passed and she was delighted to have her hand back where she could see them. 

 "Look Deargán.  They cannot keep me prisoner, I am too quick minded for those evil goblins."  She smiled wryly at her own joke, realizing her escape would have been a lot easier if she had done this at the beginning. 

 "Tar anseo_, Deargán!_"    * come here *   

The great stallion perked up.  He came to her and nudged her with his velvet muzzle.  Blowing slightly through his flared nostrils, he seemed to be asking her what she wanted. 

  "_Bhàn, _luigh síos_._"    * down, lie down *   

It was something she had taught the stallion to do when he had become too big to mount without help.  He knelt on his front legs and allowed her to get on without the usual mischief.  He seemed to sense the urgency of the task. 

  "_Nach maith an buachaill tú!_"     * Aren't you a good boy! *  

 She gripped his long mane and gave him the command to stand.  He obeyed without his usual naughtiness and stood still as a rock. 

  "_Ruith!_"    * run *  

 He set out at a steady canter, avoiding low hung branches and running smoothly.  Although semi wild, he had been born and raised by his wounded passenger and they shared a close affinity with each other. 

 '_I must get back to where we camped.  There must be survivors, and they could be hurt.  Damn those cursed orcs.'_

*

*

*

This is my second attempt at this chapter, edited and improved I hope… Let me know what you think


	4. The Meeting

On horseback she reached her camp in half the time.  Although the journey was hard and at times she had felt beyond exhaustion, there were no major mishaps along the way.  Her stomach lurched as she began recognizing her surroundings.  A deep dread of what she would find almost stopped her in her tracks.  Shaking her head she continued on to the hollow where they had set up camp some nights previous.

It was carnage.  Horses slaughtered as they stood securely tied were left for the carrion eaters to finish.  Swarms of parasitic flies flew from carcass to carcass, feasting on the rotten flesh.  She cried aloud as she recognized one of her own.

"Ciarán, no!"

The young horse was barely more than a few scattered bones, picked clean by the foul carrion crows that circled overhead.  He was recognizable only by the fact that his ravaged head hung still tied to her wagon.  He had been slaughtered where he stood.

Tears of grief streamed down her face, mingling with dried blood.  Deargán, spooked by the dead horse, uttered a drawn out groan and danced on the spot.  He stayed only because his mistress willed it.  Had she not been on his back he would have run from the grisly scene.  Understanding this, she clumsily dismounted, unable to see for her watering eyes.

"Tar anseo amáireach."  * Come back here tomorrow *  She stroked his velvety lips affectionately and gestured for him to leave.  "You do not need to suffer this."

Not daring to stand still, she searched the camp for survivors, both beast and man.  There were none alive and no sign of any man.  The wagons had been ransacked and much of their contents lay discarded and trampled on the ground.

All around the camp were signs of scuffles and fleeing beasts.  She was a fairly skilled tracker, her experience coming from the years of following the wild herds of horses on the hills of her homeland, but she could make no sense of what signs she found.  After finding no survivors, she walked the perimeter hoping that she might find some clues to what had occurred.  It became apparent that a large party of orcs had circled around them, coming in from the east to attack them from behind.

Glancing down at a set of peculiar tracks, she frowned.  She was now fifty meters away from the edge of the camp and some ten meters off the main trail that went between her home and Edoras.  Although her eyes were more used to following animal spoor and tracking the occasional lost child, she recognized the imprints of what looked like a wagon.

"_No, less like a wagon than like something with two wheels.  A chariot of sorts._"

Crouching, she peered closely at the sodden ground.

"_And not drawn by a horse.  Some other beast, something bigger.  And with claws… _"

Holding her bound hands just above the foreign print, she measured it and found it was at least five times bigger.  Chilled to the core, she sat abruptly.  The attack had not been a random and disorganized one.  Someone had watched as they had been ambushed.  Watched as the massacre had begun.  As horses, tied with no means of escape, had been slaughtered where they stood.  As human captives had been taken into the night.

She felt her body go weak.  How many more had suffered this cruel fate?  Her resolved stiffened.  She would go back for them.  She could do nothing else.

*** 

"Where are you going, brother?"

Blue eyes glinted in the darkness.  There was a movement between two trees where the moonlight filtered down through a small opening in the canopy.

"I could not sleep. What we saw today has left me troubled."    

"You didn't answer my question."  

"Why do we hide like cowards? We should follow those fouls beasts and bring vengeance for those who have fallen here."    

The words were spoken passionately, the lilting voice rose slightly in anger.

"We must wait.  Until tomorrow at least."   

"Why?  We can travel by moonlight.  I am ready, we could leave now."    

"Survivors, Nardolo.  They may come here yet."

*** 

She worked by the light of the moon, trying to cover the remains of the lifeless horses with dead wood found in the little patches of thicket just off the road.  It was a grim task, but she felt loathe to leave them as meat for scavengers.  Unable to bury them, she had decided to burn them on a funeral pyre.

She stumbled often and was moved to tears more than once by the sorry sight of such proud beasts fallen so low.  Exhausted and weak through lack of food, she struggled on and by dawn had succeeded in covering most of the deathly mound.  As misty tendrils of sunlight touched the earth with their warming glow she laid the last leafless branch atop the hastily built tomb.

Her tired limbs trembled as she searched the scattered belongings at her wagons wheels.  A ripped leather knapsack caught her eye and she leaned forward in recognition.  Struggling with the fastenings, she gave an exclamation of bitter satisfaction; she felt no joy that day though her small achievements gave her the strength to continue.

In her tied hands she now held a small box, well crafted and bearing the carving of a horses head that seemed wreathed in flame.  Along the sides runes carried the message 'may this be your light along the dark road'. It was a gift from her late father given to her on her first journey to Edoras, where she had traveled as a messenger rather than as a horse mistress.  He had pressed it into her gloved hands and bade her take it with her.  She carried it to this day.

She lifted the carved lid and from within took a dull stone.  It sat in the palm of her hand easily, smooth from years of use.  A deep groove ran along its center, revealing an iridescent grey core, hued with the colors of the rainbow.  She set it before a small pile of dried pine needles she had collected earlier, groove facing upwards.  Returning her attention to the contents of the box, she lifted what looked to be a crudely fashioned knife, a blade of stone with an ornate bone handle.  Again the fire wreathed horse motif was carved into the bone, yellowing with age, but beautiful still.  Where the eye of the horse should be was set a finely cut gem, glittering and precious.  She wept to see it, for it reminded her of those who had fallen, her beloved beasts who would never again feel the warmth of the rising sun on their backs.  Every hour of her waking day she had spent loving them and tending to their needs for they were like children to her and she grieved as a mother grieves for a lost child.

When her tears were spent, she resumed her task.  Holding the ornate tool she stuck the grooved stone at an angle.  Sparks flew where stone met stone, scattering about the small pile of kindling.  Her bonds hindered her aim and she cursed.

Gathering herself, she changed the angle, striking again and was rewarded with a faint wisp of smoke.  Once more the shriek of stone upon stone rang out and finally a flicker of flame resulted.  Quickly leaning over it, she blew gently.  Embers smoldered threatening to die.  With a silent prayer, she blew a little harder.  The pile burst suddenly into flame and grew stronger as she fed it dried leaves and twigs. 

Finally she felt it safe to leave the small fire without fear of it going out.  She collected a smaller branch and at one end wrapped an old blanket she had found near her pack.  Setting it in the fire she waited until it was fully lit, then carried the blazing torch to the funeral pyre.

As the fire took hold, she cried aloud an ancient verse in a tongue she did not understand fully.  Of its origins she knew nothing save that it was the language that her father used to speak with the horses.

"Daibh na ruith leamsa, 

Brenna, Orlaith, Aodhán, Líadan, Ciarán

Déan cadalan sàmhach.

Myr shen dy row eh t'annym is rieau gyn."

* To them who ran with me,

Brenna, Orlaith, Aodhán, Líadan, Ciarán

Sleep peacefully.

May it be your spirit is always free. *

Her strength was now utterly spent, and she dropped to her knees.  Great clouds of black smoke went up into the sky and she fancied she could see the outlines of running horses in its shifting form.  As she lay on the sweet smelling grass, her mind drifted and she fell into a deep slumber.

*** 

"There is a fire burning east of here."

Handir looked up from where he had been packing up their belongings.    Getting up he went to stand beside his brother at the edge of the small copse where they had spent the night.   Frowning, he dropped the sleeping mat he still held and whistled piercingly.  

"Let us go."

He mounted the pale steed that had come at his call.  Reaching a slender hand down to his companion, he pulled him up.  He set the horse at a gallop towards the tower of black smoke rising.

*** 

Hearing the approach of galloping hooves, she awoke expecting that Deargán had returned.  Instead two cloaked men moved towards her at an alarming pace.  Whirling round she looked for some means of protection.  Naught but the great fire caught her eye and, reaching forth, she grasped a fiery branch.  Holding it aloft she screamed.

"Who comes here? Stay away from me or risk losing you life."  

Unheeding, both men jumped down from the horse and came closer.  They talked quiet soothing words, but in her panic she heard nothing save the rapid beating of her own heart.  As one came within a few feet, she lunged forward aiming for a face with the flaming branch.

He sidestepped easily and drew back slightly.  Holding his hands up he continued to speak, though still she heard no words.

_The other, where is the other?_

As the thought flashed through her mind, she felt great arms encircle her and lift her clean off the ground.  In her struggle, she lost hold of the branch.  Weaponless, she fought on kicking out behind her and biting at the arm that held her.

*** 

Nardolo tightened his grip as she struggled, amazed that such a slight thing could fight with such ferocity.  He had thought her just a boy at first, for her hair was short and came only an inch from her head and her clothing, or what was left of it, was very masculine in appearance. 

"Ah! Brother she bites me.  Can't you calm her before there is nothing left of my arm but gnawed bone!"

"Hold her Nardolo.  She is panicked, but she cannot fight us forever.  Hold her till she calms."

Gradually her struggling subsided and her body went limp.  Stooping over, he laid her gently on the grass.

"She looks injured brother.  We must get her away from here."

"The horse cannot carry us all.  Meet me back at camp"

"Why is it brother, that every time something happens, you ride and I walk?"  He complained in jest.

"Because I am older and a much better rider."

As he spoke he remounted and gestured to the prone woman in the grass.

"Pass her up to me."


	5. Friends and Enemies

She awoke abruptly, rising suddenly from a murky dream where all Middle Earth seemed empty.  Opening her eyes she jumped in horror to find it just as dark in the waking world.  Recollections of the previous days events came back to her and she felt drained, all the fight in her taut muscles drained.  

For the second time in as many days she had wakened in a strange place, with no idea as to how she had gotten there.  In those few moments of confusion that lingered as she came from deep sleep to waking she thought herself back in the cave.  That her escape was nothing more than a hopeful dream.  But she realized that this felt different.  Freshness in the air and the faint whisper of wind in the treetops told her she remained outside. Though no light from the moon filtered down through the thick canopy the darkness was not the inky black of a confined space.  She strained her eyes, searching for something that might hint to her whereabouts.

"You're in a small wooded outcrop, some four miles distance from… that… place.  We brought you here when you passed out."

She jumped to hear the voice so near when she had thought herself alone.  Attempting to sit, she found herself cocooned in rough woolen blankets that smelt earthy and well used.   The sharp movement sent splinters of pain through her head, which still ached though less acutely than before. She found that, while she felt a little uncertain and disorientated, she could sense no immediate danger.  The disembodied voice that had surprised her had the familiar lilt of native Rohirric.  The man sounded soft-spoken, even friendly, if a little concerned.  

Wondering how he knew she had wakened, she turned her face towards the sound of his voice.  

"You have suffered a few injuries, lady.  There is a deep laceration to the scalp at the back of your head, the result of a sharp knock to the head, I should think.  Swelling and bruising at your shoulders… your right arm was dislocated when we found you.  There are other cuts and scrapes, all relatively minor…"

He seemed to hesitate, unwilling to continue.   Unable to stand the silence, she spoke.

"What is it…  who are you… where am I?"  

The questions poured forth.  Her feelings were mixed.  Relieved that she was no longer alone, but afraid that she might once again be a prisoner, held against her own will.  She considered remaining silent, sneaking away when her unknown captor slept.  However, after the past few days, the yearning for some human company took precedence over her need for survival.  The warmth of the blankets and relief from pain meant she was more comfortable than she had felt in what seemed like an age.  

"Oh… I'm sorry lady, I have been rude… I am Handir, son of Haman, Rider of Rohan.  My brother, Nordolo, and I found you yesterday by a great fire on the road.  You were injured and in shock… you have slept until now…"

"I don't remember… just the darkness, everywhere, all around me… I couldn't get out…trapped in the darkness…"

She stuttered, suddenly terrified at being unable to recall the previous few days.  Tears came again, hot and bitter.

"Why can't I remember?"

There was a sudden rustle as the man rose hastily, coming towards her.  A rough hand was placed tenderly on her forehead, gently stroking her in the way she used to calm a spooked horse.  He spoke quietly, reassuring her.

"It will come back, lady… you have suffered deeply, you must rest your body and your mind… I can light a small fire if the darkness upsets you."

She shook her head, knowing there was good reason for not having a fire lit already.  Realizing he would not see this, she answered him aloud.

"No, I will be alright… I am just confused and a little tired still.  Perhaps a little more sleep…" Her words slurred as fatigue overcame her.

As she slipped asleep, she felt comforted that help was close at hand.  Lulled by the gentle caress of the stranger's hand and soothing words, she relaxed into a peaceful slumber.

 *** 

His eyes were adapted to seeing in the night.  Feeling strangely protective of the battered waif that had come into his care, he remained by her side until he knew she slept deeply.  Able to make out the vague outline of her features, he wondered how one so vulnerable had been so strong.  When he had treated her wounds earlier had had marveled at her continued survival.  Though none of her injuries would have been life threatening alone, the combination would have knocked a strong man off his feet and yet she still fought.

He listened out for his brother, absently stroking the girl's short hair. 

 *** 

Wakening again, she was relieved to find that she could see.  Warm morning light fell in patches on the leaf-carpeted floor.  Somewhere a bird was singing.  Wriggling a little to loosen the blanket, she sat and studied the small camp.  Behind her a mossy rock face rose, creating a small sheltered hollow.  Immense oak trees interspersed with smaller pine served as a screen on the remaining three sides.  Scraggly evergreen bushes were dotted amongst the tall trunks, the waxy green leaves and tiny red berries a dash of colour against the gray brown bark.  The ground was thick with decaying leaf matter and scattered pinecones.  Remains of a fire sat in a specially dug hole in the center of the concealed clearing.  Two other bedrolls were spread at the opposite side, some personal effects strewn about them. 

There was no sign of her unknown rescuers.  She wondered where they were.  Rising, she tested the strength in her legs.  Still shaky from her long trek, they buckled at the knees a little as she stood.  Careful not to exert herself, she wrapped the rough blanket around her like a cloak to keep out the chill.  She walked the perimeter of the camp, familiarizing herself with the layout.  At the far corner, an ornate saddle had been laid carefully over a fallen log.  She ran her fingers along the supple cantle, admiring the clever way that the craftsman had used the stitching to decorate the deep chestnut brown leather.

She wandered further into the trees, intensely curious about the hidden camp.  In all her years traveling the road to Edoras, she had been unaware of the existence of such a place.

She saw a small movement from the corner of her eye.  A slight flash of gold.  Turning slowly, so as not to frighten the inquisitive horse, she lowered her hands to her sides.  The mare danced backwards, tossing her fine head playfully.  Deep chocolate eyes regarded her almost solemnly, fringed with long flaxen eyelashes.

Stepping forwards, the horse blew gently in her face, it's muzzle so close she could make out the tiny downy hairs.  Mimicking the mare's action, she blew back, knowing it was the horse's way of saying hello and of getting to know her.  Reaching up slowly she began running both hands down the arched neck.  Feeling the beast lean into her touch, she smiled and moved to scratch her withers.

"Well hello, you beautiful horse.  Do you belong to my new friends?  Where are they anyway?"  She crooned in a singsong way she used on all horses.

The horse whickered gently, as though answering her.  It rubbed its face on her arm affectionately, almost knocking her over.

"Careful there pet!  I'm not feeling too good right now… be gentle," she chided only half serious.

For as long as she could remember her life had revolved around horses.  At two she had been put up on old Bill, her father's favorite mount.  She could still feel the childish excitement as she bounced around atop the gentle giant.

Her first horse had been given to her when she was just ten years old.  Ciara.  There had been complications during her birth and the mother had died, leaving the helpless foal orphaned only a few hours old.  Her father had given her responsibility of the tiny filly in the hope of teaching her that caring for horses required commitment and sacrifice.  She took to the role of foster mother with great ease, rising before dawn to milk the cows to feed the tiny baby and even sleeping in the stable overnight.  The bond between the two had become so strong that Ciara had taken to following her like a faithful dog, jumping high fences just to be close to her.

She smiled fondly.  Horses had such a calming effect on her.  It was a pity she could not say the same for people.

"I see our guest has risen!  Perhaps she would like to partake in a spot of breakfast?"

She jumped, caught unawares by the return of the two men.  Conscious that she was staring; she said the first thing that came to her.

"Hmm… let me guess.  I know a little elvish… Nardolo is fiery of head, is it not?"  She paused looking both men up and down.  Gesturing towards the shorter of the two, she laughed.

"Why, how simple!  Named for the color of your hair it seems, which makes you Handir."   She turned to smile at the taller brother, who grinned openly.  "I'm intrigued as to why two men of Rohan have elvish names."

"It's a long story lady.  Which I might tell you one day.  But I'm afraid you have us at a disadvantage… you know our names and have rightly guessed which belongs to who, but we do not know yours…?"

"I am Rosaleen, daughter of Theodim, horse mistress and trainer for the King.  I am very glad to meet you and grateful for your much needed assistance."  She executed an awkward curtsey hindered by the blanket.

"Ah Lady Rosaleen, shall we?"

Handir took her arm and escorted her back to the camp.  She stole a glance at his profile, eager to drink in the details of these courteous men.  He was tall, standing a good foot above her with fine blonde hair crowning his delicate head.  Had she been asked, she would not have thought him a Rider of Rohan, for his appearance was deceiving.  He looked almost feminine.  No beard grew on his fine cheekbones and the willowy body looked more suited to a scholar than a fighter.  Only his hands gave him away, the calloused fingers rough on her arm and short nails grimy with dirt.  

"Now, my poor little patient, bed rest for you and lots of it.  You are in no condition to be wandering, though I am glad you felt up to it."

He grabbed her bedroll, placed it against the trunk of an oak and nodded towards it.  Feeling slightly childish, Ros sat with her back to the tree.  Handir leaned over her and tucked the blanket around her waist.

"I know you feel better, but that is the effect of the herbs I gave you last night.  When they wear off you will feel a little worse."  He explained.

"How is it you are so skilled in healing?"

Ros struggled to meet his gaze, discomfited by the deep intensity of his concern.  Deeply independent, she found it difficult to express gratitude to this overbearing man without seeming weak.

"As a child I had a great passion for reading.  Healing is always useful when a great portion of ones life is spent fighting for survival."

Ros had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at his next action.  Comically he slapped his forehead with the flat of his hand.

"Some healer!  So skilled that I forgot to gather more herbs for the relief of your pain…"

Shaking his head sorrowfully her moved off muttering curses and berating himself humorously.  Turning as he reached the trees, he bowed low.

"My Lady, forgive my absent mind.  I shall return only when I have enough herb to heal an army, thus ensuring your continuing comfort."

She watched his departing figure until the dense foliage surrounding the clearing obscured him.  His brother remained behind quietly skinning and gutting the hare destined for breakfast.  Shifting uncomfortably, she glanced up to find him regarding her with an indefinable look.

 ***

Listening to his brother talk to the woman, Nardolo felt his heart sink.  In his thirty-four years on Middle Earth he had come to recognize that tone in his brothers voice.  Others might mistake is as friendly chat or even admiration, but he knew better.  For though his twin was gifted with a great intelligence, he was prone to sudden infatuation.  It had caused trouble in the past and, Nardolo sensed, it would cause trouble now.

Concentrating for a moment, he opened the young hares belly in one deft movement.  Working the blunt edge of his knife between the outer skin and tender muscle, he removed the fur in one piece and set it aside.  The soft pelt made an excellent lining for his moccasin like shoes, especially useful when the cold winter snows came to the plains of Rohan.  He scraped the innards into a crude wooden bowl and set it next to the reserved fur.  Leaning forward he took a handful of ashes from the unlit fireplace and began working them into the surface of the meat.

He studied her face as he worked, seeing her properly for the first time.  She was not exceptionally young or beautiful, her features looked careworn as though her life had not been easy.  Deep lines settled about her eyes and mouth as she laughed at something Nardolo missed.  Her full cheeks were ruddy, the result of working in the harsh summer sun and winter storms.  There was something about her, though he could not say what it was, that silenced him and left him uncomfortable.

Yesterday, as his brother carried her to the camp, he had winced upon seeing her injuries.  When his brother removed her clothing to gain access to a particularly nasty gash he had almost turned away, believing she would not recover.  Yet today she had wakened almost well.  It was obvious the wounds pained her still, as she sat stiffly upright and held her bad arm at her side, but he felt that, if the need came, she could move swiftly.  He marveled at the deep strength she possessed when it was clear she had been through a harrowing ordeal not a few days ago.  She had kept him awake the previous night, tossing and turning uneasily as she slept, screaming something about the darkness in a way that pierced his heart.  She seemed so strong and yet Nardolo felt the need to protect her from whatever had left her so afraid.  Angered by her condition, he had stalked away into the darkness and spent most of the night thinking up cruel tortures for whomever had left her in such a state.

Wishing he had the words to express his troubled thoughts, he cursed himself inwardly.  Adding some small branches to a the pile of dried grasses before him, he arranged them into a conical mound.  He lit the fire with a well practiced hand and skewered the meat.  Setting it between two forked branches set into the soil, he left it to cook.  

His eyes were drawn to her face once more, and he watched her as Handir strode off.  

 *** 

She held his gaze until it seemed she would drown in his murky brown depths.  A deep sadness rested in his eyes, echoed by his downcast features.   His long hair hung straight down his shoulders, interwoven with skillfully placed braids that left his fiery locks free to blow in the wind, but left his face clear.  It was a shade of deeply burnished copper, darker in some places than others.  He had no beard, though his face was covered in light stubble.  She wondered about his age, finding it difficult to discern with such contradicting signals.  His eyes showed a great age, but his body seemed young.  His limbs were long and well muscled, clothed in a leather tunic over heavy woolen trousers.  Over his forearms and lower legs, thicker leather guards embossed with golden shapes which she could not make out at distance.

"You will need clothing!"  His simple statement softly halted her roaming eyes until they once again fixed upon his careworn face.

She nodded, unable to speak.  The man before her had such presence, even whilst he sat motionless, that she felt struck dumb.  Her stomach rolled pleasantly as he cast a glance over her partially covered body.  A warm flush tingled through her limbs.

"I have something that will suffice…" he paused, searching for the words, "…until you find garments more… suited."

Finally finding her voice she answered, keen to hear more of his deep, melodious voice.

"Thank you.  That is very kind of you.  Hopefully one day I will repay you and your brother for everything you have done."


End file.
